


Drinking Alone

by Bexinthecity247



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Canon Divergent, Canon entwined with non canon, F/M, alternative universe, somewhat AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bexinthecity247/pseuds/Bexinthecity247
Summary: "We should be drinking alone, togetherDrownin' the pain is betterWith somebody else who got problems"David and Julia meet prior to the events of the show, under slightly different circumstances.Will follow the canon of the show (to some degree) but will be somewhat re-written.





	1. Tequila Shooters

**Author's Note:**

> Based loosely on Carrie Underwood's 'Drinking Alone'.  
> Will probably be a 3/4 Parter.

“Is this seat taken?” a voice brought her head up from her wine glass, her gaze coming face to face with the most brilliant blue eyes.

“I e...r...” why had she forgotten how to speak?? “no.”

The man, broad yet svelte, with a head of messy curls, slid in opposite, nursing a pint.

“I was watching you from over there, you seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” he said. That accent! Those eyes! She frowned

“What makes you think I've got things on my mind?” she said, a little too defensively. He shrugged.

“Well you’ve been staring into that glass for a solid ten minutes now,” he said, and she swiped at her hair, embarrassed.

“Are you always this forward?” she said, unsure whether to find him charming or infuriating.

He looked at her, mouth set in a thin line, and she shifted under her gaze. She’d been rude, and she was almost afraid he’d get up.

“Look, I’ve got shit on my plate too and I don’t even want to talk, I just thought... you’re drinking alone, I’m drinking alone, and we should drink alone...together?” he let out a small laugh and the tension in her shoulders dissolved as she reciprocated. “Yeah that sounded stupid, even as I said it.” He was flushing pink. Was that Glaswegian? He looked about ready to run away but she chewed her lip.

“Do you want a glass?” she heard herself say and her stomach squeezed. His eyebrows went up and a small smile tugged at his lips. Her heart thudded in her chest, her fear of rejection not quite dulled enough by intoxication. 

“Aye, why not,” he crooned and leaned back. She bit away a small smile and gestured the barmaid for another glass. “David.” he said when the glass was set in front of him and she poured a generous helping of red wine.

“What?” she said. Apparently, she’d forgotten how to talk to another human being that wasn’t a lap boy or smarmy politician. He chuckled.

“My name – David,” he said over his wine glass and her stomach flipped. What the fuck was wrong with her?? 

“Hello David,” she said calmly, not betraying the mess of nerves beneath her small smile. He watched her expectantly, his eyebrows wiggling at her. She gulped a mouthful of wine.

“Julia,” she said finally, feeling her problems, her stress melting away under his gaze.

“Well Julia, here’s to drinking alone but not drinking alone,” he raised his glass and she raised her own, clinking it against his. She avoided his piercing eyes as they sipped on their drinks. Neither looked like they were weighed down by heavy burdens and in fact Julia was willing to bet that, to the outside world, they may have even looked like a couple. Good god, she thought, get a hold of yourself! “You look familiar... have I seen you before?”

She opened her mouth but closed it again, about to tell him the whole sordid truth, but she could already see him walking away in her mind’s eye if he knew who she really was. And that was unbearable. 

“I come here a lot …" she said tilting her head and he nodded slowly. 

“Me too,” he said, and she couldn’t be sure if he was telling the truth or accepting her lie. He set his glass down. “So... I know I said I didn’t wanna talk but … maybe I do...” 

She swallowed, leaning back in the booth, preparing to implement her defenses. 

“What is it that has you staring into a glass like it’s a crystal ball?” he asked, and she stayed silent for so long she wasn’t sure she was even going to answer.

“My husband,” she said, trying not to read too much into what she thought was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Ex-husband... we err.... we work together and it’s...” she looked above his head, unsure what to say. He watched her intently. “What about you?” 

He let out a stiff laugh. “Same really... wife... estranged wife, family shit. Kids, the usual, you know?”

No, she didn’t know. Because she had been alone for the past five years, save for the odd dalliance, since her divorce that bore her no children. It wasn’t loneliness that had brought her to the bar but she suddenly realised she was the epitome of loneliness. Her eyes misted up and she wanted to fall into a hole. He was frowning at her, a hint of concern that she was sure was more out of obligation for having approached her, rather than anything else. But the feeling in her chest kept on blossoming until a fire was raging.

“I didn’t mean to upset you...” he said softly, and she cleared her throat, recovering herself.

“I’m not... I just err...” she fumbled for the words, almost wishing she could drown in his voice. “I think we need a rule, no mentioning of exes.”

He grinned at that and held his drink up. “That I can get behind!” 

She clinked her glass against his again.

-x-x-

“So, she’s screaming at me! And this fucking sheep is shitting all over her ‘good room’,” David punctuated his words with fits of laughter and Julia laughed with him. He had known this woman for barely two hours, but the sound made his pulse quicken. “And the farmer’s standing at the front door, with a shotgun at me shouting ‘where’s Wilson?’ and I -” 

“Wilson??” Julia shrieked, her laughter had become so hysterical, she knocked over several empty shot glasses, sending them scattering across the table. He caught one with a snigger, but one fell to the floor with a smash and the strangers looked at each other, wide-eyed before she clapped a hand over her mouth and David laughed soundlessly. 

“Yeah so apparently this sheep was his prized pet, who knew?” he shrugged, sipping on wine. An empty bottle sat at his elbow and a second, nearly empty stood tall beside it.

“I should get a pet,” she said, slurring only slightly, her words slow and deliberate. “Roger never let-”

“AHH! Shot!” he suddenly shouted, far louder than he meant to and she groaned playfully. He slid a shot over to her and she hung her head before she lifted the glass to her mouth and threw it back, letting the gold liquid burn down her throat. She grimaced but slammed it down on the table.

“I hate tequila,” she said, and he nodded, a smile cracking across his beautiful face.

“I can tell,” he said then downed his wine and stood up. His head was swimming and he had to hold onto the table for a moment.  “Right, I’ll be back in a minute, then I think I better put you in a taxi home.” He watched her, propping her head up with her elbow and he felt true sorrow at their parting. But he wasn’t an animal. 

She looked at him sideways, watching as he walked out the back. She waited half a minute, her heart jumping into her throat. Suddenly she felt sober and yet it wasn’t stopping her from following him. If he was surprised that she had just stormed the gents, he didn’t show it. He turned away from the sink to look at her, slowly.

“Hello,” he said, lip curling up and she brushed her hair out of her face, avoiding his glance as she approached him.

“I don’t normally do this...” she said, raising her eyes only when she reached him. He narrowed his, feeling a twitching in his stomach. And then she leaned in, kissing him, slowly and tentatively at first but when she felt him kissing her back, she clutched at him hungrily, one hand buried in his hair, the other gripping his shirt. He tasted of wine, tequila and her stomach had erupted into butterflies. He met her pace, burying his own hands in her hair, grabbing at her waist, her blouse and then he pulled away, his eyes boring into her, leaving her breathless.

“Are you sure you wanna …” he was saying, and she couldn’t do anything other than nod as she took his hand and led him into the nearest cubicle. It wasn’t the most romantic of settings, but romance was overrated. 

As soon as the door was locked, her mouth was on his and he was pulling at her skirt, dragging it upwards. She let out a moan against his mouth when he touched her bare thigh, hooking his hand under her and lifting her up without breaking contact. She braced one leg against the wall behind him, the other wrapping around his waist and when she felt his hand between her legs, she knew if she wanted him to stop, now was the time to end it. Did she want to stop? She pushed him away, stilling his movements and looked at him. He swallowed, afraid this fantasy was about to come crashing down.

“You wouldn’t like me if you knew the real me,” she breathed, then leaned in, taking his lower lip between her teeth gently. She released it and rested her forehead against his. “You’re so gorgeous,”

He frowned and slowly, deliberately, pushed aside her knickers and guided himself inside her. She gasped, gripping his shoulders tight and he hugged her against him as he thrust into her, drawing breathy moans from her that got louder and less reserved the closer to orgasm she got. He tried to hold on, clawing onto images that would help him stay the length and allow her to come before he spilled into her, but the way she cried in his ear was almost too much. She’d said she didn’t normally do this, and he could safely say, neither did he but there was something so intoxicating about this woman that almost banished all thoughts of Vicky and their problems. 

Her breathing had become erratic, punctuated with soft whimpers and finally she was clenching around him, shuddering noticeably as white lightening exploded inside her and she moaned in his ear. It didn’t take long for him to follow her and he spilled over without any thought for the consequence. She stroked his face when he was spent, and he kissed her gently before pulling out, their heavy breaths fighting for oxygen. 

He left the cubicle, letting her clean up, as he straightened his clothes in the mirror. She had disheveled his hair and he was smoothing it back into place when she said, “I don’t think I want to go home,” punctuated with a flushing toilet.

He let the words hang in the air, waiting for the water to stop running and she came out of the cubicle looking less like the sure vixen she was when she went in. He chewed over the words, and perhaps it was the tequila raging through his blood, but perhaps it was something else, that led him to say, “we could go back to mine...”

Her eyes only flickered over his briefly, her chest heaving slightly as she considered the implications. It wasn’t a marriage proposal for Christ's Sake, she chided. Why couldn’t she have some no strings attached fun? And she couldn’t deny it was the best sex she could remember having. 

“If you want to I mean...” he added after she had remained silent for so long.

She brushed at her hair again and then looked at him with what she hoped was a sultry smile. “Sure, why not,” she said, echoing his words from earlier. Her head was fuzzy, and she wondered if she would regret this in the morning but for now, right in this moment, his grin was enough to carry her into the taxi that would take them both back to his.


	2. Morning Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of her hangover was starting to thrum behind her eyes, but she laid as still as she could, watching him sleeping with the smallest of smiles on her lips, before the harsh reality of the cold morning, now able to penetrate her armour, brought a nausea to her, that had nothing to do with dehydration.

“It’s not much,” David murmured as he slid the key in the lock, opening the door to his kingdom. And he wasn’t kidding. It was about half the size of her own flat, luxurious in its Mayfairan block. This flat was somewhere in the dark suburb of Camden from what she could tell. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been in Camden, until now. And yet his flat was a home, not a cold and hollow shell that existed purely to tie up several millions of her trust fund. 

She could see kids’ shoes discarded in a pile by the door, coats hanging off a hook and suddenly this felt very real. This was a real man with children, an ex-wife, a life. And what was she? Perpetually alone. She could make an excuse, run away like every time she got close to someone. But he made her feel something different to all the others. Just from looking at her. 

He led her to the living room, looking out of place no matter how he stood, and she found herself grounded by his delicate gaze. He chucked his keys into a dish and shrugged his way out of his coat, which prompted her to do the same and he disappeared with them. She slid her heels off without falling over, and stood surveying the room, twisting her hands. What on earth was she doing? She had just fucked a total stranger in the bathroom of some bar and now she was back at said stranger’s house about to do god knows what. But he wasn’t a stranger, she reasoned; his name was David. 

“Do you want a drink?” he suddenly said, and she jumped. 

“I think I’ve had too much already,” she smirked to cover her uneasiness. She was proven correct by the slight swaying she couldn’t control. He grinned, and her smirk became a smile. When was the last time she had smiled this much? she wondered as he crossed the room towards her. He seemed more confident now, back in his own territory and when he reached her, her breath quickened, her world spinning around her. She felt weak but didn’t know if it was his proximity or her intoxication. Or both. 

He leaned in, his mouth just brushing hers and her breath caught on her teeth. Her lungs stopped, and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she was afraid the drums would burst. The contact was all she needed to break the impasse, to regain her confidence and she snaked her arms around his neck. His hands were firm on her hips, holding her tight against him. Then he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“The bedroom’s through there,” he murmured, his eyes only flickering briefly in a direction to his right. She didn’t say anything as he took her hand and led through a dark hallway to his bedroom. Photos of children littered the walls and a photo of a blonde woman with a little girl jumped out to her. She did her best to put the image out of her head as he dragged her into his room. 

It was definitely a bachelor's bedroom, no sign of femininity. Did that matter? If there had been, she’d have likely spent the night anyway. 

This time it was gentle, less hurried than the drunken fumble earlier. He took his time in drawing her to and from the edge and despite the headiness that the alcohol had left her with, she felt a warmth beginning to spread. A warmth she hadn’t felt in so long. It was almost romantic, and he held her hand when she came, panting his name with an embarrassingly weak voice. It felt more like making love than mindless sex with a stranger, and she clung to him in the aftermath, long after he’d reached his own climax and pulled out. He kissed her, touched her hair, smiled down at her. All the things lovers did and if felt real. All of it, felt so real.

Julia awoke to blackness and pain. Her head throbbed, and she blinked to dispel the darkness. When she had come to her senses enough to realise the blackout was natural, and that she hadn’t gone blind, she became aware of an arm snaked around her middle, holding her in a way she hadn’t been held since perhaps the early years of her marriage. She could feel, rather than hear the soft breathing from the person holding her and she turned a little to see if she could see his face in the dark. The beginning of her hangover was starting to thrum behind her eyes, but she laid as still as she could, watching him sleeping with the smallest of smiles on her lips, before the harsh reality of the cold morning, now able to penetrate her armour, brought a nausea to her, that had nothing to do with dehydration. She slid from the bed, watching for any sign of movement from her bedfellow. He didn’t stir, and she grabbed up her clothing, shutting herself in the bathroom to dress. 

She looked at the mirror, her eyes widening at the dreadful sight of her face; dark circles added to the smeared mascara under her eyes and her face was puffy. In the yellow light, she suddenly felt like the loneliest person on the planet. The thought was washed away as she scrubbed at her face and escaped, peering into the bedroom on her way out. He hadn’t moved, and her shoulders sagged, 

Julia clicked the front door closed, as quietly as she could, only allowing herself the chance to breathe once she was out on the street. She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her. Down the deserted road, a milk float was ambling along like it had all the time in the world, but she was acutely aware that 4am would be rolling around soon and thereafter, the world would begin to unfurl its limbs like a sleep addled cat and start the day afresh. Not her though. She’d spend another empty weekend, alone... working. The thought brought no comfort as she pulled out her mobile and dialed the number of a well-used taxi firm. She looked around, eyes searching for a road sign. It hadn’t occurred her until then that she really didn’t know where she was. She wasn’t lost exactly. Julia Montague was never lost, not permanently. 

-x-x-

She raked a hand through her hair as the lift whirred and rocked on its steady ascension. It was only 10.47am but this Monday was already a mess. There was a steady throbbing behind her eyes, one that had not left her all weekend, and she willed herself to focus. Beside her Rob MacDonald prattled on about statistics, and terrorist cells but she’d checked out the moment they’d stepped into the lift. Why had she brought him again??

“Are you alright, Julia?” he asked, and she turned to him, the first hot prickles of anger rising through her central nervous system.

“I’m fine,” she said, waspishly. Or she would be fine if she wasn’t having to traipse half way across the city for a meeting with Lorraine bloody Craddock over some ridiculous assumption, she needed a bodyguard in light of the rising threat level. She closed her eyes as the lift came to a halt on the right floor. Oh, how her head hurt mercilessly. The doors opened, and she stepped out first, Rob trailing behind. Lorraine's secretary smiled as they approached, a gesture Julia didn’t reciprocate. Though she caught Rob smiling back like a kicked puppy. Why did everyone she worked with have to be utter morons??

“Ms. Craddock will be with you in a moment, if you’d like to wait over there,” the girl said, and Julia tried not to huff as she sat down. The click counted down the seconds of her life with a painful ticking and not for the first time since Saturday morning, she found herself thinking of that plucky, yet shy, Scotsman who had somehow managed to creep in and tangle vines around her chest.

Why hadn’t she stayed? It was the thought of children, too complicated, she tried to tell herself. Something lurking in the dark recess of her mind, however, reminded her that that wasn’t true.

“Ma’am, I’m glad you could make it,” A voice filled the corridor, dragging Julia’s attention to the Chief Superintendent.  _Of course_ _I fucking made it! You summoned me._ The aggression however, didn’t bleed through her polite yet passive exterior.

“Lorraine,” she said, rising to shake her inferior’s hand. 

She resisted the urge to command Rob to stay like the loyal dog he was, and she followed Lorraine into her office. A man sat on the seat opposite the des, his back to the door and Julia felt something cold creeping up her spine. Surely many men had the same posture, same hairstyle. 

“David, this is Julia Montague, Home Secretary,” Lorraine said, and Julia tried to swallow as he turned to face her. She felt a mix of nausea and a spike of excitement at the sight of him once more. He didn’t show any signs of recognition however; his brilliant eyes remained unemotive, almost cold. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as she sank demurely into the seat beside him. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said in a voice that was distant and clipped, professional. Totally detached from the voice he used crying out her name. 

“Right... yes... like-er. Likewise,” she said, avoiding his piercing gaze. Lorraine slid into her seat behind the desk, seemingly oblivious to the conflict on the other side.

“So, PS Budd is going to be your new PPO, ma’am,” she said, and Julia looked from the man who had, in one evening, unfolded her walls, to the woman she maintained equal parts hatred and respect for. 

“Right,” was all she could say. She wanted to scream. Wanted to say no, she didn't need a constant reminder of her drunken mistake. In the light of the day she was even a little horrified to realise how much younger he was.  She drew in a long breath, straightened her back and nodded. She’d dealt with many unpleasant workplace experiences, what was one more?

-x-x-

He walked her past Rob, who jumped up and eyed up this new man with a level of suspicion only appropriate to a lover, or a husband. Julia found it pathetic. David reached past her and pressed the elevator button. 

“I have to go and be assigned my firearm and then I’ll meet you at the home office, ma’am.”

For a second, he was within kissing distance.

“Of course,” she said, her mouth dry like sawdust.

Then he drew back, and while Rob was back to filling the air with his own voice, she was acutely aware of his presence, just behind her. She could remember the feel of his hands on her skin and she was sure she was blushing when the lift chimed its arrival. He leaned in.

“You were right,” he said only to her. She frowned without turning around “You said, I wouldn’t like you if I knew the real you, and you were right.”

The words stole the breath from her lungs and a weight settled in her chest. Her eyes prickled but she would not cry. She shook her head slightly, stepping into the lift and turning to face him, her eyes boring into his until the doors closed, severing their connection.

“Well he’s a bit intense, hmm?” Rob said, and she flinched. She’d almost forgotten he existed.

“Oh, shut up Rob!” she snapped.


	3. Gunshots and Disappointments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compiles Thornton Circus and the meeting at the hotel but doesn't end the same (sorry!)

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

David could see her roll eyes at this latest distraction on the relatively short walk from car to building. He stopped abruptly, just as she did, and surveyed the scene, the people, around him. The man, with a rod back and smarmy as they came, stepped into Julia’s path, blocking her ascent into the chambers. David knew the man only by name from their drunken night but had yet to meet him officially in the short while he’d been assigned to her. 

“I don’t have time for this, Roger,” she said, uncharacteristically tame. She attempted to side step him, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. David frowned at the little wince she gave. Should he step in? Julia Montague was not a woman who struck him as needing rescuing, but something was beginning to burn in his chest. 

“I’m the chief fucking whip! When I call, you bloody answer!” Roger snarled, leaning his face close to her. Still Julia showed no signs of backing down. 

“Excuse me ma’am, we really need to get inside,” David said. Roger ignored him, and his grip didn’t loosen. 

“What the fuck are you playing at with this bill bollocks?” he said instead, and Julia steeled herself. 

“Roger you are really trying my patience,” she warned, her tone reaching a dangerous low as David looked anxiously around. 

“Ma’am, I must insist you move inside,” he said, fixing Roger with as cold a glance as he could muster. 

“Wind your neck in plod, you work for us.” The jab normally would have had David raging enough to punch him in the face. But he swallowed the urge and clenched his jaw painfully 

“I’m sorry sir, but if you don’t allow me to escort the Home Secretary into the House of Commons, then I’ll have no choice but to inform my superiors that you are obstructing my job. Not to mention manhandling a female politician,” he said coolly, and Roger looked at him for a long time before dropping her arm. She didn’t follow her instinct to rub it, wouldn’t give her ex-husband the satisfaction but she pushed past him with a smile instead, sensing David’s wordless presence behind her. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. It had been several uneasy weeks since he’d been appointed to her protection team and his presence had become doubly suffocating. She wouldn’t have been surprised if it was Craddock’s idea of some sick joke to give her some Labour loving Scot, ten years her junior. It was perverse. And yet, just for one night he’d made her feel different. 

“Just doing my job ma’am,” he said as blankly as ever, and she swallowed, rolling her shoulders. 

“Of course,” she said quietly, leaving him at the door and he watched her enter the chamber with such authority, such grace that it made his groin burn. He cleared his throat, taking his place by the door next to his colleague whom he gave a solitary nod. 

“Skip,” she said, and he forced a smile. 

-x-x- 

At her back was the roaring from her own party, only just masking the booing from the opposition. But she didn’t look unhappy. In fact, she looked self-satisfied, like a cat proud of its hunt. David fell in line with her, trailing her to the car. At his side Tom and Kim followed just as diligently and he briefly wondered how either of them felt about this infuriating woman. Neither seemed to mind. Though neither of them had fucked her either. 

“We’ll see you at the other end, Skip,” Kim said, and he affirmed with a nod, watching them retreat to the support vehicle before he opened the back door of the ministerial car. Julia passed him, keeping her body as far away from his as physically possible as she slid into the car without comment and he shut the door on her, refusing to meet her challenging glance as he claimed his own place in the front. 

She stared at the back of his head, unmoving and unable to focus on the paperwork in her lap. Her chest hurt and suddenly the buzz of her victory was rapidly wearing off. 

“Take the south side Terry, past Thornton and Heath, please,” David said to her driver and she sank a little into the seat with a sigh. Going that far out meant she was in for a hefty delay. What she wouldn’t do to be back in the relative safety of her office where she couldn’t feel the penetration of his eyes, or his stifling presence. Yet, she found herself wishing they’d never stop driving. 

The car looped around London expertly; Terry really did know the streets like the back of his hand. But the closer they got, the less chance she’d have for any kind of meaningful conversation and she opened her mouth several times, unable to muster the courage to say what she wanted. 

“David …" she finally said, and their eyes met in the rearview mirror. “Can we-” 

Her words were broken by the sound of something hitting the glass on Terry’s side. David looked to see a spiderweb creeping across the top corner and recognised the sound as a bullet almost immediately. Julia screamed, a shrill noise that cut through him as the first shot was followed by another, splintering the glass dead centre. 

“Down!” David shouted at her, turning his attention to the man beside him. “Drive! DRIVE!” 

Instinctively, he lowered himself into the seat, and Julia hadn’t stopped screaming since the second bullet. He couldn’t hear her over the thundering of blood in his ears and he suddenly felt like he was sat on top of burning hot sand. 

A third crack bit through the air, penetrating the glass and showering both the other occupants in red. David stared at the remains of Terry, mouth hanging open, and his breathing quickened. Julia yelled something, elevating to louder shrieks and it snapped him from a hot desert to a cold London street. Trying to ignore the coppery taste and smell in his mouth, his nose, he leaned over and yanked the steering wheel towards him to avoid driving head first into oncoming traffic. He pulled on the handbrake, putting the BMW into a tailspin where it shunted into the front end of a parked car before stopping. He barely registered the impact as he turned in the seat, covering his head and his breaths coming in short pants as shots peppered the car and windows like falling acorns. Somewhere over the din of his trauma, he could register her frantic cries, and swallowed. 

“It’s going to be fine, ma’am. Just keep down, the bullets can’t penetrate the armoured plating.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t convinced by his own words and didn’t expect her to be either. Her screams had petered to whimpers regardless. 

“It’s okay,” he said, softer, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt. A shot hit the windscreen at his back and he jumped, provoking another scream from her. “Just stay down ma’am!” 

He fumbled for his radio, yanking at the blazer that kept it covered. “Control, sierra sulu seven nine. Status zero. Thornton Circus. Control sierra zulu seven nine. Status zero. Thornton Circus. Lavender is TA. Lavender is TA.” Having something to concentrate on meant his chest stopped heaving and at least some of the fog cleared from his mind. The reply was punctuated by pings off the bodywork, but he didn’t flinch this time, simply took a deep breath. “Four seven, seven nine, back to back on two.” 

He changed the station before waiting for a reply from the support vehicle. 

“We’ve lost Terry, we’re sitting tight, waiting for backup, suggest you do the same.” The reply was stolen by a smack on the side. Julia yelped, and he jumped; he’d almost forgotten she was there. 

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, fighting the squeezing in his stomach inducing by the copper stinging in his nasal passage. His mouth tasted like old pennies and he thought back to a time when strewn body parts and their fetid smell were a daily occurrence. More shots littered the car. Christ! How many bullets did this guy have?? This was not someone playing, this was someone seriously intent on hurting her. She whimpered in the back and his hand sought hers, enclosing around her shaking fingers. 

“It’s okay, Julia. It’s okay. You're doing great,” he murmured. It was the first time he’d used her name since he’d been assigned to her. Since they’d slept together and yet here, in the face of danger and trauma, it rolled off his tongue so naturally. “Shh... It's okay.” 

He pulled at his radio again. “Control, sierra zulu, seven nine with a sit rep. We need armed support and air ops to the scene, as a priority!” 

He tried not to show the relief on his face when he heard support would be coming in two minutes, but a rush of something made his chest thud. 

Something buzzed overhead, drowning out the sounds of everything else as a helicopter roared past them and his ear piece droned with information. 

“Well fucking take him down then!” he hissed into the microphone. Julia pulled his hand towards her and he tightened his grip as he listened the control’s reply before desperate anger erupted in him. “You already said two minutes!!” 

When no further reply came, he abandoned the radio and shifted so he could see her face around the side of the seat. Her face was smeared red and her eyes alternated between wide like a rabbit and hooded as the trauma threatened to overwhelm her. 

“Two minutes ma’am, we’re going to be fine.” he said with a comforting nod of his head. This seemed to calm her, though the grip on his hand hadn’t slackened. Lowering her head to her knees, she took a deep, shuddering breath and David could see an approaching armed vehicle weaving through the abandoned cars behind them. 

“See. Everything’s-” 

An almighty smash thundered in the small car and the window nearest to Julia exploded in terrific style. She screamed as the splintered glass rained down on her, ripping her hand from his to shelter her head. The helicopter above buzzed so loud it vibrated through his head and at first, he mistook her sobs for something on the street. 

“Look at me!” he said over the war zone. She didn’t, unable to hear through her panic. “Julia!! Look at me!!” he shouted but still, he couldn’t reach her. 

He watched as the armed response vehicles whizzed past them, securing the ground around the tall building at the far end of the seemingly otherwise normal street. Her sobs and screams had dulled to whimpering and quiet crying and he chewed his cheek before squeezing through the gap to get to the back, his shoes crunching over broken glass. 

She looked wildly at him for a second, perhaps afraid he was about to abandon her, but he angled himself awkwardly in the footwell beside her, ignoring the chunks of glass tearing at his knees and hands as he pulled her towards him. She didn’t resist, folding into him like a collapsing deck of cards. She buried her face in his shoulder, gripping the bloodied lapel of his blazer as he cradled her trembling body against him, his hand pressed against her hair. He took note of the damage in the back. The entire interior, including her, was covered in blood, but with glass everywhere, he wasn’t sure who’s was what. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, fighting the tender need to keep her safe in a way that had nothing to do with professionalism. “it’s okay.” 

He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the sound of war, the smell of blood, her heavy breathing in his ear, his own heartbeat threatening to burst from his chest. Somewhere in the distance were three loud pops and then the entire square went quiet. But it didn’t stop the buzzing inside his head. The door nearest to him was ripped open and a covered face appeared. His heart rate spiked but he resisted the way his body wanted to jerk in surprise. Instead he covered the movement by pulling away from the principal and uncurled himself from the footwell. 

“You took your fucking time!” he snarled as he passed the officer. Behind him he could hear Julia crunching over the glass in his footsteps, but he couldn’t look at her. He was too afraid to see her in this vulnerable state that reminded him she was human because he disliked what it stirred back up in him...Didn’t he? Now he wasn’t so sure. 

“Do you need medical treatment Sargeant?” the man said, and David waved him off. 

“No, just focus on the principal,” he said, only allowed himself to look at her as she was being moved away, by Kim. 

“David,” she said quietly. Her hand gave a small movement as if reaching out for him and their eyes met. He almost reached out but then PC Knowles was dragging her into the back of an ambulance. 

-x-x- 

“My god! Are you okay?” his wife, seemingly in permanent nurse mode, looked him up and down. His eyebrow stung so he imagined the right side of his face was a mess. She lifted a hand to his face and he pulled away. The motion was so unlike him, that he could see the confusion and surprise flashing across her eyes. 

“I’m fine. I just want to see the kids,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. 

“Err...” she pulled a face and he stared at her. 

“What?” 

She shifted from one foot to the other. 

“It’s just... Dave …” she shook her head and suddenly he hated the way she said his name. Hated being called Dave. When had he started to prefer being called David?! He missed what she said so he frowned, and she pursed her lips. “You’re clearly not in the right frame of mind. And you’re covered in blood. God Dave, you look like shit!” 

His only joy in life was seeing his children and now she was even denying him that. 

“Fine,” he said in a tone that told her just how un-fine it was, but she folded her arms and cast her glance down at her feet. “I’ll come back when I’m more presentable then.” 

He was at her door before she called him back. 

“At least let me clean you up!” she said desperately. He thought about staying bu he couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe in her presence. 

“I’ve got to go.” 

He had retreated into the world to the cries of his name. 

-x-x- 

The cold water was only soothing momentarily, the minute cuts all over his skin stinging savagely when he applied alcohol. He didn’t wince though, and afterwards he stared at his gruff appearance. Perhaps Vicky had been right all along. He'd apologise in the morning. But right now, he had somewhere else he needed to be. 

He thrust his hands into his jacket pockets in a vain attempt to stop them shaking, the closer to the hotel he got before pulling out his badge to the first policeman he saw. 

“Service entrance is that way Sargeant,” the man said, pointing to the next door along that was inconspicuously flanked by two similarly armed officers. He repeated the gesture and then he was in the bowels of the Blackwood. 

It was plush, one where he was new even the most basic rooms cost upwards of two hundred and fifty quid a night. Far out of his league. Perhaps that was the problem with him and Vicky; he could never afford to take her to places like this. He followed the bread crumb trail of officers to her door and knocked only once. When it was thrown open, he expected her face to appear. 

He did not expect to find the face of her aide, staring back at him. 

“Yes? Can we help you?” the man said, and David instantly hated him. They’d never had much to do with each other until now, yet here he was, hating his presence inside her hotel room, like a jilted lover. 

“Who is it?” her voice, small and fragile came from the room. Rob looked him up and down, apparently eying him up just as much as he had. The bastard smirked as he cast his glance behind him. 

“It’s Sargeant Budd,” he called. The way the little rat said name made David grind his teeth painfully. It was said like it was an insult to be a Sargeant and not a... whatever the fuck Rob was. 

She came to the doorway, her arms folded around herself and she looked broken, her eyes almost afraid to meet his. But David looked between the couple, his hawk reflexes catching the very slight way Rob touched her arm, in a very husbandly way. David frowned, perhaps he was waiting for her to shrug him off, but she didn’t. Not right away anyway. Oh, how he wished that smug twat would leave them alone. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek so viciously he thought he’d draw blood. Julia looked sideway at Rob and after a long silence, he finally got the hint and faded into the room, leaving PPO and principal standing uncomfortably close to one another. Half of him yearned to reach out for her but he thrust his hands into his pockets to quell the urge. He was suddenly embarrassed by the way he had rushed over here, thinking she’d be alone and afraid. He scoffed, angry at his assumptions. Angry at her, himself. Fucking Rob! 

She opened her mouth, closing it again but it broke his reverie. 

“I shouldn’t have come, I thought you’d be alone, that you might … need someone,” he shook his head, feeling rather than seeing her eyes raising to meet his. “But I see you have someone.” 

He knew he sounded like a scorned lover and lord knew he’d felt like on since the day she’d snuck out of his flat. 

“David,” she said so quietly he thought he’d imagined it. He cleared his throat, shaking himself free of her intoxicating magnetism. At least, temporarily. 

“I should go,” he said, eying Rob over her shoulder. Why did he always feel he was leaving places all the time lately? It was exhausting being this restless. He didn’t give her time to protest, simply turned his back on her and retraced his steps. He knew she was too proud to chase after him, but he would never know how close she came. 

She watched him go, something cold settling in her chest. She hugged herself, trying to banish the thought of his arms around her. 

“Julia?” Rob was at her back, touching her shoulder. She suddenly wondered what the fuck he was still doing there?! She shrugged him off and felt her walls steadily reconstructing themselves. “Come on, I’ve poured us some wine.” 

“I think I want to be alone now,” she said, a spark of her old self breaking through the trauma. It was a lie. She didn’t want to be alone, she just didn’t want him to be there. He had the wrong accent. 

He looked at her, mouth slack in a way that made him look stupid. Wasn’t he only supposed to have been bringing her some papers? When did he bring wine?! And how had he wheedled his way into staying for over an hour. 

“Right ... okay,” he stumbled, grabbing his coat and she stepped aside to let him pass. 

“Call me if you need anything,” he said, touching her arm as he went. It made her crawl. Not likely, she thought. 

“Sure,” she said with only the smallest hint of a forced smile. And then he was gone, thank god. But she craved another’s presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind reviews. 99% of them keep me inspired :)
> 
> I hate to sound negative - but fanfic writing is a fun thing, I'm not going for a pulitzer here so ... yeah let's remember that AU and fanfics are written for fun :) :)


	4. Wounded Panther

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Julia finally recognise that things between them are not strictly professional.  
> And Rob is a bell-end as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a little delayed!
> 
> For all my lavender on the move GC groupies who continue to simultaneously inspire and make me giggle like mad.  
> Also for misswritingobsessed who is always inspiring me.

“And have you managed to discover anything about the Pascoe House shooter?” she said, her tone making it very clear just how annoyed she was. She gripped her pen so tight in her hand, she thought it might snap.

This put Anne Sampson on the backfoot who looked to her colleagues for help. None came to her aid.

Julia’s eyes glanced over the people around her meeting table. They were a bunch of politicians and police officials she cared little for and right now all she wanted to do was scream. What she did, however, was take a breath and roll her shoulders.

“Hmmm,” Julia hummed, folding her arms. This meeting was at an end. 

“Home Secretary, we are still making valiant efforts to uncover any information about the shooter but-” Anne said.

“I think I’d like to take up Stephen’s suggestion for the Security Service to take over the October First bombing investigation,” Julia said, abruptly and said man only looked between the two women with glee.

Mike looked to his colleague in horror, mirroring the expression Anne was throwing down the table.

“Ma’am, you are setting a dangerous precedent.” 

“And while they’re at it, perhaps the Security Service can provide some actual information on the man who nearly killed me,” Julia looked between the two warring factions, her eyes hard and narrowed.

Anne shook her head furiously, infuriated by her MI5 counterpart’s smug grin. 

“Ma’am-” she started but Julia stood up.

“I think we’re done here,” she said, moving to the door, her glance catching David’s through the glass.

The ending of the meeting signified she was on the move and he adjusted his tie, providing a verbal command into his microphone and moments later they were standing in the parking garage, his hand on her car door, seconds before she even got to it and she smiled at him

“David,” she only said, tasting his name on her lips.

"Ma’am,” he said coolly, erasing the smile from her face just as quickly as it had arrived as she sank into the car. Behind her trotted Rob, a wad of papers in his arms.

After all they’d been through together, he was still going to treat her like a pariah! She raked a hand over her hair and David waited for Rob to get in the car before he shut the door on her and took his place. He watched them from the mirror, the way Rob seemed to hang on her every word, how she seemed to tire of his very presence. He couldn’t know she watched him in the mirror whenever his gaze was directed elsewhere, a longing pulling at her. 

“So, these are ones we’ve greenlit, but these are the ones Marr’s people have warned me that he’ll try wheedling through, so to be prepared. And we’ve ensured he’s not to ask anything about erm...” Rob trailed off, his expression searching and suddenly lost.

“Thornton Circus?” she snapped, avoiding David’s glance in the rear-view mirror.

“Erm... yes.”

She squared her shoulders, swallowing hard as thoughts of Terry’s shattered brain flashed before her. She blinked rapidly for several seconds. David watched her with a frown. Had Rob not been there, he might have said something. As it stood, he kept a silent vigil, head bobbing side to side, watching the traffic and the fluttering commuters as Rob blustered on like the blithering idiot he was. 

David murmured something to the driver and when they approached the studio, the car weaved around the back to the underground entrance, something, for once, Julia was eternally grateful to David for, since the main entrance would, no doubt, be besieged by angry protestors who weren’t going to cut her slack for nearly being killed just days prior. In fact, they’d be cheering if she had died, she knew. The thought used to make her angry, but now she felt a pang of sadness that there wasn’t just one person in this world who’d have cared. Besides fucking Rob, it seemed. The thought vanished along with her melancholy as the car stopped and the Scottish hulk who had invaded her life in every conceivable way, was at her door, pulling it open whilst simultaneously avoiding her glance. 

She was sick of this. Sick of his petty bullshit and she wondered if Craddock would ask too many questions if she asked to have him replaced, as she stalked the corridors to the anteroom, David, infuriatingly always at her back, Rob desperately trying to catch up with her dramatic pace. As she turned to face David, she found she couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him every day. What a walking contradiction she had become. 

-x-x-

The room was too silent without Rob to be the buffer between their uneasy silences and she folded and unfolded her legs just to have something to focus on other than the sound of his breathing, the thudding of her heartbeat as it steadily crept into her throat. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, she felt an immense pressure under his gaze. God she wished he’d just leave!

“Where the fuck is that coffee?” she muttered more to herself, to remind herself she could in fact speak.

“I’ll go and-” he started to say.

“No, it’s fine,” she said too quickly, the thought of him disappearing from her presence too unbearable. 

When she looked at him, she saw the flicker of something unreadable wash over him before he settled back into stoicism. She rose to her feet, twisting her hands in front of her as she took a step towards him, her mind whirring with words she wanted to say. He watched her stalk closer to him, less like the predatory panther he usually saw her as, more a brand-new kitten, so unsure of her surroundings and her place in the world. She opened her mouth, his stomach fluttered but the door opened, and two coffees entered the room followed by the man carrying them. The papers stuffed into his mouth made David think of that old dog his parents had that used to bring the paper in.

The moment was shattered, and Julia immediately pulled away from him, just when he thought they were getting somewhere. She turned away, just as Rob did and his fidgety grip flung the coffee into her path. The gasp she uttered when it splashed down her blouse, would have been loud enough to topple the Eiffel Tower and all three occupants froze before Rob dumped his papers and pulled out a handkerchief. He desperately tried to mop up the coffee on her front with erratic apologies before she pushed him away from her.

“You fucking imbecile,” she snapped and he pulled back, face falling like crumbled bricks. 

“I can go and get a replacement, er, I.. what’s your size?” he fumbled, and she stared at him like he was truly the most incompetent thing she had ever encountered. 

 _Size twelve,_ David thought to himself, delighting in the fact that he had seen the inside of her clothes, notably when he had been taking them off her. But now was not a laughing matter. He stepped forward, pulling his tie off, shrugging his jacket off. Both Julia and Rob watched him in alarm until he fixed his eyes on her.

“My shirts are altered to fit over my ballistic vest, so the chest and hip ration should be the same,” he said, and she stared at him for several seconds, unable to comprehend the simple act of kindness he was bestowing on her.

She wanted to reach out to him but instead took the shirt wordlessly, trying to ignore the way her hand touched his when she did. 

“I’m SO sorry Julia,” Rob was saying from somewhere outside of their bubble and the reverie was broken.

“Just fuck off and organise Sergeant Budd a new shirt!” she snapped, and he turned back to her, turned away, caught in a cycle of what to do and what not to do. Her eyes were cold, hard, staring him down until he left, and David turned awkwardly around as she pulled her jumper over her head.

It smelt of him, she noted, as she pulled it around her. And she knew it was stupid, but it felt warm, like he was holding her from behind. She shook the sensation from her and turned her head in his direction, wondering if he was looking. A spike of disappointment shot through her when she saw he was turned the other way. 

So, Julia did what she always did, she took in a breath, straightened her back, and pulled her blazer over his shirt that felt like it belonged on her and squared herself to meet her nemesis. Moments later she stepped onto the set and took her place opposite the journalist. David watched her from the side. Why did his shirt look so much better on her than it ever had on him?

“Home secretary, just how worried should we be about the rising terrorist threat level?” Marr was asking and she looked unfaltering at him. 

“Well now is not the time to be complacent, that much is true. Britain is a target,” she said, tilting her head to the side. 

God she was beautiful, David marveled, from his position behind the monitors. He would never deny her beauty but even now, when she was in full politician mode, he felt the stirrings of something that went deeper than sexual desire. He swallowed it.

“Is the threat likely to get worse?” Marr asked, rising an eyebrow.

She looked narked, even from fifty or so yards, David could see the irritation spreading across her face. 

"We are doing everything in our power to keep Britain safe and -” 

“Yes, I’m sure that is true Home Secretary, but what the British people would like to know is, are we at risk of an imminent attack?” Marr pressed, leaning forward and David could see her gripping her hands tightly in her lap.

“How can anyone answer that?” David asked to no one, but Rob acknowledged the question with a sharp turn of his head. Clearly it was not the PPO’s place to make comments.

“I’m sure you’re aware none of us have a crystal ball, however our counter terrorism team have relinquished a lot of control to our security service who I anticipate gathering enough intel to-”

She was blinking rapidly, a sure sign of her annoyance. 

“Home secretary, you were a victim of this yourself, almost killed at Thornton Circus, so wouldn’t you like to know the answer to the terrorist problem?”

David’s heart hammered in his chest and beside him Rob was looking around for any assistant who would meet his eye. 

“This hadn’t- that wasn’t. He was specifically told not to talk about that!” Rob was saying.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something to stop this?!” David looked at him only briefly before his glance returned to her. She had frozen, something he’d never seen her do before and he doubted she’d ever frozen in any aspect of her life ever, since she looked like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“I-” she opened her mouth to speak, closing it several times, her hands shaking in her lap. “I don’t think-”

“Was your driver murdered in a terrorist attack or was it unrelated?” Andrew Marr didn’t seem to register her distress, nor did he cease the line of attack as David watched on in horror as she struggled to regain control of the situation. He felt a bizarre urge to run onto the set and pull her out. But she wasn’t in danger, not physical anyway and he was being absurd.

“Wha... I .. This isn’t...” She was stuttering and it was a rarity for her.

She shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs and for just a moment he wondered whether she’d get up and leave. No one would blame her, but that wasn’t Julia Montague.

With a glare, she swallowed whatever was rising inside her, and clasped her hands so tight it looked painful.

“What happened to my driver at Thornton Circus, is not up for discussion. It is an ongoing case and I simply cannot comment on it,” she finally said like a wounded panther licking its wounds.

David felt an odd sense of pride watching her square off against the man intent on unravelling political bullshit. Suddenly Rob was right back at his side, having missed his boss’ rise from the ashes. 

She didn’t exchange any pleasantries as soon as the cameras went off, just ripped the microphone off and stormed out of the set, pushing past Rob, whom she shot a cutting glare. 

“Julia - I swear, I told them not to-” he was trying to explain, following her down the corridor, David not far behind.

“Fuck off Rob. Just FUCK OFF!” 

David watched Rob’s face fall and they shared an awkward glance.

“Best you find other means back, sir,” he said, taking authority over the situation in a way perhaps he shouldn’t.

-x-x-

David knew he shouldn’t have left her. Something in her stance when he had declared her hotel room as safe and moved to exit, unsettled him, left him feeling hollow.

It was what had him dragging his arse off his dank sofa and traipsing back across town when he should absolutely be asleep. Not that he slept much anyway. 

“Ma’am...” he called when she didn’t answer his knocking. 

It was clear she was not going to appear anytime soon, and he was unsure how long to wait so he braced himself for a fight. He pushed the door open slowly, giving her a chance to yell at him to leave if she so wished. She didn’t. When it swung open, his eyes scanned the vast suite before settling on her, standing by the minibar. She was holding onto the counter but turned towards him. She looked so unsure of herself, so small, vulnerable and suddenly he felt very protective.

“Is everything okay ma’am? You didn’t answer the door...” he said, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Mhm.”

She turned away from him, bending to examine the collection of glasses in front of her. She was closed off, and he knew instantly it had been a mistake to come.

“I-” she tried to say but her voice quivered, and she hated how weak it made her sound. “I wasn’t expecting to be asked about … THAT!”

She spun around to face him, letting go of the countertop and he could see her hands shaking, her eyes blurring like crystal pools. The thought of leaving died on his tongue and he crossed the floor to be at her side.

“Julia, are you alright?” he said, feeling his pulse quicken in his throat. 

“And Rob, the jumped-up little shit!” she said, running a hand over her hair. “I’ve never frozen, EVER and that was just- is it not bad enough that someone wants to kill me, he wants to use it to humi-” 

The rest of her tirade faded into sobs and he pulled her into him, her head going to his shoulder. His arms automatically went around her, and she felt safe. It was an odd feeling, to feel safe when everything around her was going to shit but for just a moment she wanted this to never end. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured as she pressed her face into his neck. 

He hated how much he enjoyed touching her, holding her, hated the way he lived for the smell of her hair in his nostrils. And after a moment he became all too aware of her breath on his skin, the weight of her in his arms, and she lifted her head, tilting it so their mouths were only milimetres apart. He leaned in, close enough to almost taste her before he pulled abruptly away. 

“Jesus!” she cried, rubbing a hand over her face, frustration, devastation perhaps, blasted across her face. 

He turned away from her, trying to regain some control of the situation, his body. 

“What is your problem?” she said shrilly and when he looked at her, her eyes were wide and fiery. 

“My problem?” he repeated with a guffaw and she raised an eyebrow. “Do you sleep with all your staff? Is it like a rite of passage?” 

He felt remorse the moment he saw the pain flickering across her face. Her liquid eyes made his stomach feel like lead and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Firstly, fuck you. Secondly, I didn’t even know you were my staff when we-” 

“I meant your aide, Rob!” he snapped before he could stop himself. This conversation had gone beyond their professional limitations and both knew it. “You two seemed really fucking cosy the other night.” It was the first time he’d sworn at her and both felt the ramifications.

He had crossed a line and he desperately wished he could go back.

“Julia-” he said, shaking his head as he reached out for her. She took a step back, avoiding him as something cold and unreadable settled across her beautiful face.

“I was being fucking shot at, David! Terry was blown apart in front of us. All I wanted was you to stay but I got him instead, dropping off some bloody speech like it matters! Nothing fucking matters anymore!” she snapped, arms flinging wildly around her. Her breathing was heavy and laboured, her voice cracking.

He watched her without moving, unsure what to do.

“All I wanted was you to stay, and to tell me everything would be okay, but you left,” she dropped an octave and raised her pained glance to meet his.

He thought this might be the most honest and vulnerable she’d ever been. It stirred something in him. His silence only served to irritate her and she made to storm past him when his hand reached out and enclosed around her arm, surprising even him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his head to her ear. She was so close it was unbearable. She leaned in, her mouth open and searching for his, against her better judgement.

He didn’t leave her searching long as he touched his mouth to hers tentatively, his lips stealing her breath. She leaned into him, her confidence growing as she sucked on his lower lip and he raised a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, caressing her hair. His heart pounded painfully as their kiss deepened, the pair overcome by a ferocious passion.

And then he was pushing her towards the bed, his jacket and her blazer shed before they’d even made it two feet. His fingers worked on the buttons of her shirt, tearing his own shirt off and leaving her in her bra, him topless. She was falling onto her bed, pulling with her and the press of his skin against hers was enough to have her moaning into his mouth. He was on her, in her, all over her and it was a sensory overload. She let out a cry each time he pushed into her, slowly, torturously, but it felt so good. She clutched at him, pulling him as close into her as physically possible.

It was like a valve had been released, like he was finding his place again and that place was right here, with her, buried inside her, his mouth on hers in a hot fiery display of almost unbearable pleasure. He groaned when she clenched around him, bucking her hips against his rhythm. She whimpered when he leant in, nipping at her neck, when he swallowed her moans with his tongue, as the white fire of climax started to build in her stomach.

“David,” she breathed, almost embarrassed by the weakness of her voice. 

His hand gripped hers, holding it against the sheet, the other angling her hips in a way that allowed him to drive into the entire depth of her, leaving her breathless. Her hand trailed from his shoulder up to the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair. He bucked against her, pushing into her with a speed that almost brought her to the edge of oblivion. The heat burned brighter, and stronger until it was an out of control forest fire and her eyes began to swim, unable to focus on even the most minute details of his face, his skin, or the ceiling.

Then he stopped suddenly, and her eyes flew open.

She tried to pant out ‘what?’ but every inch of her brain wouldn’t fire. He looked like he was going to speak, his forehead resting lightly against hers, and she almost said something she hadn’t said in a long time, but then his mouth was softly back against hers. He took her bottom lip between his teeth, his hand moving up to touch her hair, cradle her check. And her throat made an involuntary noise somewhere between a cry and a moan, when he slid his entire length slowly back into her. He set the pace now, slow and she almost couldn’t bear it. 

She said his name again, desperate for him to a bring an end to her torture, to push her over the cliff. But he enjoyed the way she had melted beneath his touch far too much to let her climax just yet. Perhaps part of him was worried that once she had, whatever this was, would be over. He kissed her jawline and she arched her back, yearning for the release he was denying her. 

Until finally he didn’t deny her any longer and a red-hot warmth burst through her like the sun had torn her body apart. She made no sound, her vocal chords paralysed by the convulsions ripping through her. Somewhere in the ether, she was aware he was groaning, writing as his own orgasm hit him like a brick. She clung to him like he was her life boat, as her breathing slowed from heaving to light pants and when he rolled off her, staring straight at the ceiling, she looked at him, her eyes roaming over his face, trying to read his expression.

She waited for him to speak, say anything, tell her this was a massive mistake, but he seemed paralysed and so she turned over to face him, running her hand up his chest, settling on the space his neck and shoulder met. Her index finger skimmed along his jawbone and she shuffled against him, pressing herself into his side. His arm reached around her, settling on her hip. Both were afraid yet exhilarated by this renewed intimacy and her last thought before she closed her eyes was that she felt happy, something she hadn’t felt outside of his presence in so long. And that terrified her.


	5. When it all Goes Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cute, happy moments. Some jealousy and then pretty aggressive sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments!

“How long were you in the army?” Julia asked. She was sitting up in the middle of the bed, the sheet tight around her and was picking at a tray of room service. She looked around at him, her brown eyes full of curiosity and he found it arousing.  

He pulled himself into a seated position also, so their bare shoulders were almost touching. 

“Ten years,” he said, picking a pastry off the tray and popping it into his mouth. His glance met hers now they were close enough to kiss but he didn’t reach out to her. 

She looked at him thoughtfully, looking over the tattoo on his bicep, the scars adorning his back. He always thought of them as shameful, ugly, but her glance over them with such tenderness made them feel almost beautiful.  

“Was it what you always wanted to do?” she said, and he paused, glancing down at the food before them.  

He wasn’t sure how to answer that really. 

“You’ll probably laugh, but when I was in school, I really wanted to be a doctor,” he said. Her eyes changed with this new information, like a cat weighing up its options. 

“I’m not laughing,” she said with a warm smile. “What happened?”  

He leaned back onto the bed, the sheet barely covering his waist down so she could see the arch of his hip bones.  

“I didn’t know anyone who could get me into medical school, so I didn’t bother applying.” He sounded bitter and she thought through his words, his eyes darkening at what was obviously a painful memory for him. 

She watched him as she chewed on a piece of fruit, his eyes were cast away from her, his arm behind his head. She hummed and then laid back, tucking herself against him, her head resting on his arm. He turned his head to her slightly, his nose grazing her hair. He didn’t know it was possible for a person to smell decadent, but she did; a faint floral scent laced with sandalwood and it made him weak.  

She leaned across him, her fingertips grazing his side where the scars curled around to his front. He wanted to tell her to stop, before she became too ingrained with that ugly side of him. Then part of him enjoyed the soothing of her hands on his body, so battered and scarred by war and the failure of his marriage. Her touch made it all feel okay, if only for just a moment. 

“They don’t hurt?” she said, lifting her head up so her eyes were level with his. Her eyes were softened, and he thought he might drown in them. 

“Not anymore,” he said. Across his mind flashed landmines, and body parts, blood and IEDs. “I’m one of the lucky ones.” 

“Because you survived?” She rested her hand on his side, in one of the grooves of the scarred tissue. She didn’t seem repulsed by like Vicky had.  

“Aye, that too,” he said with a shy smile. She smiled back at him and his heart thudded, his stomach fluttering.  

She leaned her head up to kiss him and he gladly received her affections, parting his lips to take her lower lip in his mouth. With one smooth movement, he was back on top of her, kissing at her neck, their giggles mingling together as his hands went under the sheet, enclosing around her naked body and pulling the sheet over their heads. 

-x-x- 

“Heathbank?” Julia said, her heart hammering in her chest. Mike Travis frowned at her.  

“You know it?” he said, his piglike eyes narrowing. She twisted her fingers.  

“No...” she said quickly. Then, off his glance, “yes...” Her eyes went to the door connecting her room from David’s.  

Mike was waiting for further elaboration, but she offered none, just pulled at her blazer, aiming to shield herself from what she knew was going to happen.  

“Home secretary if-” he started, and she looked at him with what she hoped was enough venom to shut down any further conversation. It worked and he fell silent. 

“I have a lot of work to do, so...” she said with a decisive edge to it. “I want a full report on this, no detail left uncovered.” It was his cue to fuck off. 

Mike sighed, but she had no time for his tantrums as she went to the door, holding it open for him and her cold gaze fixed on his. When she closed the door behind him, a deep feeling settled in her stomach as she approached the inner door. She knocked on it before unlocking it herself; she was always in control of the door that kept him out of her inner life, and she got to choose when to let him in. 

He was on the other side of the door when she opened it, answering her call as always. This was not a pleasure call however. He moved towards her, but she didn’t open to him like she always did and he stopped short of her.  

“What’s wrong?” he said, and she looked at him with an unreadable expression.  

“You’ve heard about the explosion?” she said, and he nodded sombrely, an ill feeling growing in his stomach.  

“Yes, I heard over the radio,” he said, the unease clearly showing on his face. 

“Strictest confidence, but you’ve got the right to know – it happened near your children’s school,” she said, and his eyes flicked up sharply to meet hers, searching for any kind of misunderstanding. 

“But-Vicky, my wife she hasn’t said-” he stumbled, and she shrugged. 

“They’ve been moved to a safehouse, but you should call your wife,” she said. The word hurt her tongue, especially when he didn’t correct her, insisting she was his estranged wife. Though, she reasoned calmly, it was not like his head would be thinking straight. 

“Right, I …yeah.” he said, turning back into his room, sinking onto the bed.  

She moved into her room, leaving the door hanging open, pregnant with opportunity as she slunk to her desk to pick at her reports. 

“Yeah, love, I've just heard! Are they okay?” she heard him say from the other room, her eyes half way between her report and the door. She bristled when she heard the concern in his voice before she checked herself. This was his family for fuck’s sake, she reasoned. “God, I don’t even … why didn’t you call me?”  

She forced her mind to look over the details of the October first attempted bombing and read the words that had been carefully transcribed for her sake, but the concentration wouldn’t come. 

“I can’t, I have to stay-” he said in a low hiss and Julia felt a coldness creep over her. “Vick, love, I’m at work. Yes, still!...listen, I'll come over and see them tomorrow, before school, promise. Alright... yeah... Bye.”  _Love._ That hurt more than she cared to admit. 

He threw his phone to the bed, his hand rubbing over his face as he blew out a heavy breath. 

“You should go and see your family,” Julia said from the doorway and he jumped; he hadn’t even realised she was standing there. She had a hand on the doorframe, arching above her head as if to create a barrier between them. He frowned at her. 

“My position is to stay here,” he told her, and she almost winced at the clinical tone of it.  

“They’re your family for god’s sake, I'll be fine for one evening,” she said coolly. He looked at her as if he thought it a test and she abhorred that, that he would think she’d put him in that position. Her hand came momentarily away from the doorframe and he rose, swiping up his jacket and already working his shoes back on. 

“I’ll be back by morning,” he said, and she nodded.  

“I have a meeting with SO15 in the morning at nine so be on time,” she had meant it to come out teasing but it came out as anything but and he made a face that was a half contorted professional nod of acknowledgement before he left by the main door, leaving her feeling something she wasn’t used to. 

With him gone, she surmised she would at least get some work done. The naivety in that thought hit her like a ton of bricks when she realised she had been staring at the space he’d occupied, for more than ten solid minutes.  

She was being unfair. Believing herself to be an obligation because he chose to stay with his family during a time that could only be described as horrific for any parent, was a ridiculous argument, despite how spurned she felt.  

 

-x-x- 

She was acting strange. She wouldn’t tell him what was bothering her and so he supposed it was up to him to find out. That was proving difficult when she avoided his glance at every opportunity and insisted on keeping the door closed on her side. He was back in the tense, murky waters that usually swirled around Julia Montague.  

The problem was, he was so afraid for his family that he was losing patience with her. He sank onto the edge of the bed, exhausted beyond simple tiredness, rubbing his face. He was sick of this. He clenched his fist, anger heating his blood until it prickled on the very surface on his skin, and he was off the bed with purpose, his hand around the handle of the door, pulling down, before he could stop.  

When he pushed into the room, she looked up from her desk, eyes wide, mouth opened in a silent tirade. Her hand dropping the pen she held, though he couldn’t know she hadn’t written or read a single word since they’d arrived.  

“What-” she stared at him, slowly rising out the chair, her hand on the back of it for support. 

His eyes were dark, haunted, as they glared at her from the doorway, his shoulders tight and his jaw clenched. She should be screaming at him, demanding he never take the liberty to storm in when he wanted. But something was stirring in her stomach. His head tilted, sizing up his prey and she refused to back her gaze down, weighing him up just as he did her. She let him come to her.  

Which he did because despite the anger simmering below the surface, something about her always drew him in like a moth to a flame, despite the expedition being as ill-fated as Icarus flying too close to the sun. He was nearer to her and could see the way her chest hitched when she could see the look in his eyes up close, delighted in the way she saw him as dangerous, only for a second before his mouth was on hers.  

His tongue split her lips, sliding beneath to tangle with hers and she breathed him in. His hand was in her hair, pulling on it before he leaned over and swiped everything from her desk, pushing her against it until the edge dug into her flesh. It was aggressive, and heated, so unlike the tender lovemaking they had engaged in before and she almost cringed when she heard something smash before he pulled back to lift her blouse over her head. Her fingers were swift against his buttons and his shirt floated to the floor as he bent to pull her trousers down, not even stopping to ghost his hands along her thighs like he usually did as his own lower half was discarded, his erection bouncing freely into the air. He forced her onto the desk, his weight holding her in place, knees separating her legs to an almost painful position.  

She held him back for half a second before she leaned in, taking his lip between her teeth. She bit down hard enough to draw blood and he hissed, pulling back from her abruptly. His eyes were marked by anger and he wiped across it, looking at her with furious eyes when he saw his fingertip came back red.  

She felt heat searing her groin and she parted her legs another uncomfortable centimetre, hoping he’d hurry up and get on with it. But he seized her chin, holding her throat beneath his hand. If he wanted to, he could snap her neck with little effort. His thumb rested on her pulse which thudded beneath the pad of his skin. He stared down at her, ran his tongue over his lip, tasting the copper in his mouth, and tightened his hand, just enough to make breathing difficult, but not impossible. She didn’t flinch, though her eyes became liquidated and dark, her pulse jumping erratically against his hand. He could squeeze tighter, and tighter until she couldn’t breathe, if he chose to. He wondered if she trusted him so explicitly that she believed he’d never do it because with the anger coursing through him, he didn’t exactly trust himself not to. The thought almost frightened him as he let go, seeing the sudden gasp in as she gulped in air. 

His hand went to her hair, yanking on it and he bit down on her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She let out a whimper that he wasn’t entirely sure was pleasure. Right then, he didn’t really care as he pushed her knickers aside and pushed into her without hesitation. She clutched at his shoulder as he filled her entirely, a mixture of pain and pleasure tearing her in two. She knew he wasn’t going to be gentle and she wasn’t sure if she cared, but the hard thrusts he gave would leave her aching in the morning. 

“My job... your job... just ...compli...cates.... everything!” she cried beneath pants, when she was within inches of abandonment, her thoughts tumbling out of her as he thrashed her towards orgasm.  

For him, climax was not the end game; in that moment it was control, submission, forcing her to supplicate to him and maybe, just maybe she’d actually tell him why she was being a bitch. He hadn’t expected her to say that however and he frowned as he ploughed into her, his arms holding her against him for maximum grip. Her cries and moans had escalated to almost inaudible whimpers. 

“Nothing complicates my job, it’s to protect you,” he said stoically. 

She didn’t think there was any warmth in his words, but it didn’t stop the rippling ecstasy in her lower extremities and just before she exploded, swept her up and carried her to the bed, dropping her to it unceremoniously. He turned her over, so her back was to him and pulled her hips up, her arse arched like a mountain peak. He pulled on her hair as he sank bank into her, his weight bearing down on her, holding her tightly against the bed. His mouth was near her ear and she could feel his breath on her as he rolled his hips into her cheeks, smacking against her harder and harder until she was gripping the bed sheets, her moans muffled by the pillow. 

“Come,” he growled over and over, fully in command of her as a final crash into her, skyrocketed her into a climax unlike any he’d dealt her before, like a thousand suns had gripped each of her limbs and pulled her apart, her mind going horrifically blank as she heard herself grunt out his name and her legs shook furiously beneath his weight. 

His intention had been to pull out at the point of orgasm, to release himself on her back but as the adrenaline began to wear off, he couldn’t bear the thought, and stayed inside, unloading into her with a strangled groan before he rolled off her, looking up at the ceiling. She kept her back to him, pulling the sheet around her and he looked at the back of her head for a minute. He felt sick. His anger had abated and now he was left with the cold thought that he had used her, and very possibly hurt her but he felt so far away on the other side of the chasm that he held a hand over his face, trying to block out everything. 

Beside him she held a fist against her mouth, tears slipping silently down her cheeks where she swiped at them, feeling the constriction in her throat as a lump grew. She wasn’t sure why she was crying, whether it was the aftermath of rough sex, the pain in her bruised thighs, the feel of his hand around her neck. Or simply the dark look in his eyes. Whatever it was, she felt her steel walls pressing down around her, separating them.


	6. Calm Beyond The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Julia deal with their emotions, together and separately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By far the weakest chapter - so apologies for that.  
> Thank you to Meral who wouldn't let me quit.

Silence thudded on. The lead feeling, solid in his stomach, hadn’t abated in the fifteen minutes of heavy rumination where he’d laid still as a church mouse, afraid to move, make a sound, and devastatingly unsure of what to do. 

David turned his head to look at her, nausea rising like molten lava in his gullet until he couldn’t breathe. When he rolled onto his side, he reached out for her, placing a hand on her waist through the crisp white sheet which felt soft and cool to his fingertips. His hand was curled around her hip bone, but she didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the gesture at all in fact and he swallowed, moving his hand to her bare arm as he leant in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered close to her ear. “I didn’t mean to hurt you...”

When she didn’t react, he felt fear prickling at the back of his neck, the very real fear that he had ruined whatever this was, that she hated him for forcing her submission. After a long wait, he realised she wasn’t going to speak and felt his heart sink faster than a rock in a pond. He rolled away, his hand sliding away from her skin and he laid on his side for a long minute before pushing himself up, hovering between a seated and laying position. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see him leave but she almost felt the room get colder as he crossed the threshold into his room, shutting her door with a click. 

Why had she let him go? She opened her eyes and stared at the wall, an ache falling over her that had nothing to do with having been fucked to within an inch of her life. 

Had it been hours? She couldn’t be sure as she rolled over to spread her hand her hand out on the bed where he’d been laying. He’d left a sticky mess between her thighs and with a groan, she pushed herself up, throwing the sheet back and drawing herself out of the comforting cocoon to stalk to the bathroom.

Julia ran a hand over her hair when she saw her reflection in the mirror; her lips were swollen, and her hair stuck in every conceivable direction from her tossing and turning. She grimaced before leaning into the shower and flicking the tap on, filling the decadent bathroom with steam. When she slid in, she winced as the hot water scolded over her skin and reddened it. It felt so pure, she stood under the cascading fountain, her eyes closed, head lifted upwards to feel it on her face. And then she felt his hands on her, stroking rough fingertips over her skin, up her throat as he kissed her neck. She brought her head back to level and her eyes opened, shooting in the direction of his room. Even through the marbled walls she could sense his presence and she wondered if he was a sleep. 

She felt him on her skin, even as she washed his fluids off her and she felt her breath quickening when she remembered the way he pulled on her hair. She knew she was losing control, losing her dominant edge and she bit down on her lip. That fucking bastard. She wanted to go back to when she didn’t know what it felt like to have him move inside her, to have his mouth branding her skin as his. When she was in control of everything. Julia struck the glass wall of the shower cubicle and screamed. She knew the falling water would cover the sound, but she almost wished he’d come running in. Of course, he didn’t, and she clenched her jaw. 

This was not how Julia Montague conducted relationships. She did not let some Scottish toyboy waltz into her life and take control. Her hand slid down her soapy body, ghosting over her erect nipples before reaching lower, tangling her index finger in the neat patch of pubic hair between her thighs. She could feel his hand around her neck, see his eyes glaring into hers, willing her to defy him simply so he could punish her, and she grew wetter at the thought, a weakness coming to her knees as she slipped her middle finger in a circle over her clit. He was in her ear, allowing her only to touch herself in slow, light touches and she let out a cry when she felt the first wave of fire building. 

“You come when I say,” she could hear him growling in her ear and as she bucked her hips to meet the furious pace she had set herself, she did as the David in her head said, and slowed her movements, almost to a halt. Her breaths came in thick and heavy gasps, as her heartrate spiked, desperately trying to keep up with the adrenaline coursing through her.

“Uhhh,” she grunted as the slickness grew between her legs and the pressure built. To steady herself, Julia thrust her arm out onto the side of the shower, feeling her knees beginning to buckle as the ecstasy grew in her.

“Come,” he’d said to her, and she had, in the most explosive way possibly. 

Even now she didn’t let herself feel the force of her orgasm until she could almost feel his hands around her throat, taking what little control she had left. As her climax shuddered through her and she cried out violently, she rested her forehead against the wall of the shower, eyes screwed tight and her breath fast and heavy as she tried to draw in oxygen. A slow realisation washed over her as slowly opened her eyes to stare through the foggy glass. She was surprised, and terrified to find she liked giving her control to him.

-x-

She crept through the door that separated their rooms, an uneasy anxiety pounding away in her chest as she stopped just short of the bed. He was laying on his back, the sheet loosely strewn across his body and his eyes were closed. She leaned over him, her knee resting on the edge of the bed. When he didn’t stir, she swung her leg over him, so she straddled his waist without pressing down too hard on him, her arms either side of his head. She could feel his cock beneath the silk of her pyjama shorts, bringing her to the heat again. 

“Are you asleep?” she whispered, her face impossibly close to his, her hair brushing his skin. 

His eyes flew open and the look in them momentarily, did not belong to him. She sat back up, startled by his glare as h stared at her for a second, his breath fast and ragged before his eyes softened and he came to.

“Julia,” he said gently and she realised she was still sitting on him. She made to move off him, but he moved his hands her hips, holding her gently in place. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” she leaned in, her eyes searching his. 

“I don’t want you to be.”

He toyed with the silk camisole material, folding it between his thumb and forefinger, grounding himself to her as much as possible.

“No... I mean...” he watched as she sought to find the words. “I’m not scared of you,”

“I hurt-” He didn’t know how he could possibly not hate himself. 

He had been rough, too rough. It was like Vicky all over when he’d had to get rougher and rougher in demeanour and behaviour just to drown out the overwhelming feeling of nothingness. Except it wasn’t the same. He’d used words on Vick, pushing her further and further away. With Julia it was about fighting for dominance, a dangerous yet alluring game of power. And he enjoyed pushing against her. Now he was afraid.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she murmured mere centimetres away from his lips. 

He couldn’t know if she was lying or not but the look in her eyes was molten desire more than anything. She kissed him and he hesitated. She pulled back, rolling off him to lie beside him. He turned to her, uncertainty bleeding through his façade.

“I’ve never let a man take my control willingly. I’ve never wanted to surrender it.” Julia’s eyes met his and they were determined, strong. “But I trust you.”

His breath caught against his teeth and he reached out for her, his hand resting on her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. When he leaned in, her eyes closed, and she felt his lips on her mouth like he was breathing life into her. David pulled away, crawling away from her and down the bed. She lifted her head to watch him and when he moved between her thighs, his head level with her stomach, she clenched in anticipation of his mouth on her. She was already parting her legs when he trailed his hands up her thighs, stopping when he got to the hem of her shorts. His eyes met hers and an unspoken agreement passed between them, so he slid between her camisole, dancing over her thighs. He bent his head to kiss the skin beneath his fingertips, trailing up and coasting over her hip bone and sucking lightly on the groove where her leg met the rest of her body, his tongue sliding along her hot skin and eliciting a gasp from her. 

David moved over her stomach, lifting her top to press his mouth in feathery kisses along her navel, pushing the material further and further until he got to the swell of her breasts. He was covering her body with his, protecting her from the cool whispery air tickling over his back. She sighed when his mouth reached the hollow of her throat, tongue flicking over her like she was the finest wine he’d ever tasted. Julia tangled her hand in the nape his neck, her other hand gliding over his back, scraping her nails against his scars. He ended his oral exploration on her lips, nipping at her lower one before taking it into his mouth, his hand coming to rest on the side of her face. When he pulled away, he rolled to her side, his hands never leaving her body. She leaned into him, her forehead pressing into his.

It wasn’t enough. She needed him to be as close to her as physically possible and she dragged her leg across his thigh, tangling her calf with his. He let out a half sob as she reached out and touched his face. Something about him made her want to give away all the control she had ever amassed, and that instilled a fear in her, greater than she had ever felt. A fear of what he was doing to her, chipping away her dominance piece by piece, taking it for his own. 


	7. Hiatus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a note

Just a quick note:  
So the chances of me continuing this are fairly low right now so I'm putting you all out your misery. One day i may return to it, and hopefully there are still some people in the fandom, but please know I've appreciated reading all of your comments. Adios :)


	8. Dark Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connections are unearthed, tested and torn apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back... and I dunno if anyone is still reading but I hope so lol.

The knocking didn’t come from the adjoining door as she first suspected, but rather from the main door and she frowned. She smoothed her blouse before she rose from the dressing table and stalked across the room, pulling it open in a way that showed disregard to any potential security threats. When did she become so reckless? When she continued her tryst with her bodyguard, she suspected.

“Stephen- we weren’t-”

The man swept into the room regardless of his non-invitation. Under his arm, a brown manila envelope was tucked threateningly, waiting to unleash god knows what secrets, onto the world.

“Home secretary,” he only said. His voice was even but she could detect just the slightest trace of smugness. She curled her lip and followed him into the suite, eyes darting over the door that separated her from the man charged with keeping her safe. She opened her mouth, a thousand demands for explanations about to tumble out. “I have some information I think you’re really going to want to know about. About  your would-be  assassin.”

Her mouth fell open and she watched as the folder was laid flat on the coffee table.

“I thought SO15 didn’t-” 

“SO15 don’t know what I know,” he was quick to cut across her and she sank onto the chair opposite him, never quite relaxing in his presence. He leant forward; eyes boring into her. “No one knows what I know.”

Julia swallowed, a heavy lead-like feeling settling in her stomach as he pushed the  envelope  towards her. She pulled it open and was confronted by an image of … she wasn’t even entirely sure. She saw a grainy image of two men sat on a bench, followed by several more shots , CCTV captures in some kind of bar.

“I don’t-” she frowned, holding one photo between her finger and thumb. 

“That man is Andrew  Apsted .” He was drip feeding her, waiting for any sparks of recognition and she hated him for it. Before she could question him, he was waggling his finger. She followed his command and shuffled through the photos. “That man  has been  identified as the Thornton Circus  shooter. ”

Her eyes shot to his, a jolt of electricity shooting from the top of her head down to her hand as she dropped the photo on the table.

“Identified by who?” She frowned. 

“I have my sources.” Stephen tilted his head, urging her to keep digging. “The interesting part is that he has quite a connection to someone very close to you.”

Julia didn’t react, despite the adrenaline coursing through her, flooding her system with something she couldn’t nail down. 

“Who?” The word was out before she registered that she’d spoken to. 

He moved forward, pulling a photo out from the bottom of the stack. Even now she couldn’t fool herself into thinking it wasn’t him.

“Someone who should have been vetted a bit bloody better, if you ask me. PS Sergeant Budd.” His lip curled up over his teeth. He was enjoying  this,  and the thought made her feel sick.

“That- what...” Her mouth was dry, her hands shaking, her heart pounding so fast it made her vision blur. “How have SO15 not picked this up?” 

Stephen looked at her so intently she wondered if he could see the way her chest heaved beneath the turquoise silk. 

“Honestly - I have no idea. I did some digging. They didn’t serve together in the same regiment, but they have quite a deep friendship it appears.”

“But … Dav-PS Budd was as much a target as me!” she  said,  and the older man shrugged.

“In my experience, ma’am, these kinds of … vigilant e  terrorists tend to think nothing of putting themselves in danger to complete a goal.” What bullshit, she thought. But was it? 

“I erm... I would appreciate you not sharing this information with anyone,” she said, eyes going to his face but not quite able to meet his intense gaze. “At least until I can figure this out. Clearly there has been quite a failing in the Royalist branch that needs to be evaluated inhouse without the press getting wind.” 

She tried to sound detached, like she hadn’t just had the rug pulled out from beneath her, but she was sure she had failed, judging by the flicker of a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. He was gone before  s he even registered it, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the hardwood door. 

-x-

His glance was soft when he entered her domain, shedding the hard exterior he usually adopted outside these four walls. And when he smiled, she ground her teeth, turning away from him, she knew he knew. 

“What is it?” he said, holding back from her. Just how much more of himself was he holding back from her? She thought bitterly.

“You tell me,” she retorted skillfully, folding her arms tightly across her chest. 

David dropped to one hip and sighed. He looked tired, it had been a long day of persistent meetings, and for him, swinging from location to location dutifully, all the while she sat and seethed, heartbroken by this latest, unwanted discovery.  Normally she’d pity him, but right now, s he hated him . 

“I thought … I thought you were someone to trust,” she said with as even a voice as she could manage; Julia Montague was not someone who liked breaking down in front of others. She wasn’t even sure if it was anger that streamed through  her or  crushing sadness.

“What?” he frowned, taking a step into the room. “Julia - I’m tired, if you’ve got something to say, just bloody well say it.”

His irritation niggled at her, allowing anger to take the lead.

“Andrew.” She watched his face for signs of recognition but saw one, just the furrowing of his brow as he sought to untangle what she meant. 

“I don’t-”

“Andrew FUCKING  Apstead .” She was beginning to feel like a caged lion.

“Andy...” he said quietly, recognition slow on his beautiful face. “What about him?”

“You know him quite well I understand,” she snapped, longing for him to break down the way he was breaking her. Maybe he just didn’t care  after all . Maybe she was just  means  to an end goal, a mission he would complete later.

“Aye... the veterans’ club... I don’t understand what this has to do with anything...” 

Julia’s mouth fell open. The gall of a man who fucked her, tried to kill her, and then had the nerve to feign innocence. 

“He was the man who tried to kill me,  but  I think you know that,” she said, bitingly and he looked at her with such a fabulous display of shock, and horror, she thought he ought to win the academy award.

“I didn’t-why would- Julia...  what- ?”  He started pacing, arms violently swinging around him as he kept his glance firmly on her.

“Oh, cut the bullshit, David, you know what I'm talking about!” She kept her voice even, injecting as much ice into it as possible. She felt her lips curl into a snarl when he stared blankly at her.

“I- Andy wouldn’t... he’s a pacifist... he wouldn’t shoot anyone! I know him!” He cried, running his hands furiously through his hair. 

“Do you? Maybe no one knows anyone as well as they think they do.” It was a pointed statement and from the flicker of hurt across his face, she would say it was successful.

She strode to the desk, swiping the brown envelope up and thrusting it at him, smacking him square in the chest. She watched as he flicked from photo to photo, eyes widening when he  recognised  his own face.

“Julia- this isn’t-” He shook his head, holding out the pictures and various papers as if they were on fire. 

“Isn’t what? Isn't what it looks like, collusion? Conspiracy? Was that the plan all along?” 

“No... NO! I had no idea, I wouldn’t … Julia-” She turned away from his pleadings, her shaking hand covering her mouth. “Let me- let me call him, I’ll speak to him, get all this cleared up.” 

“You can’t,” she said, turning slowly to face him. Despite herself, she tried to spare the pain of what she already knew. “He’s dead.”

David looked like a house of cards collapsing and it hurt. She hated how it hurt but she let it wash over her. He made a noise that sounded  somewhere between  a half pit i ful moan  and a  half desolate sob as his eyes screwed closed and he leaned on the nearest surface, his balled fist covering his mouth. She could see his breathing had become laboured, heavy and she fought the urge to soothe him. 

“How?” His eyes were suddenly hardened, like he blamed her, and she found herself on the backfoot.

“I don’t think it matt-”

“HOW?!” 

“He was shot, by ARVs, according to the record.”

A deep unsettling fog fell over them, like two caged bulls about to fight to the death and she watched his eyes slowly meet hers.

“I had nothing to do with this, Julia,” he said darkly, his expression turning grave. She looked away.

“That says otherwise.” Her gaze landed on the mess of overwhelmingly incriminating photos and papers.

“I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I had no idea he would do this!” His desperation was bleeding through ,  and she felt the knife twist further. “I need you to trust that I wouldn’t hurt you!”

“I don’t trust you! That's the problem!” she cried, unable to stop the emotion cracking through her walls.

He looked wounded, devastated even  and she turned away. She would crack if she saw the hurt on his face for a second longer. 

“I didn’t do this. Don’t you think I would stop him?” he demanded, voice cutting, hardened like stone.

Julia remained silent, let him dig his own grave without the satisfaction of her helping. 

“I don’t know David, would you?” she finally said ,  and she caught the flicker of annoyance, anger even, in his eyes. 

“If you don’t believe that then... you don’t know me.” 

“No, I don’t think I do.” By the slight gasp of breath, she could tell that whatever he had been expecting her to say, that wasn’t it. “And I need you gone.”


End file.
